Remembering Moss
by Scarabbug
Summary: “For Wesley it seemed like nearly an eternity, and he lived it several times over, just to make sure.” Set post Nemesis, spoilers. One shot.


**Star Trek: TNG fanfiction set after Nemesis, spoilers ahead. Standard disclaimers of ownership (albeit the lack of it) apply. I also think I may have just come up with the world's worst title for a fic… still maybe it's just so bad it's good.

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_"Anyone who isn't confused really doesn't understand the situation."  
_**- Edward R. Murrow**

Remembering Moss.

By Scarab Dynasty.

He went back there now and again, just to see how things had been when they faced oblivion without him: The place on the border between one world and the next, where the _Enterprise-E_ had fought its final battle with her crew. At least, her crew as _he'd_ known them.

It was easier now –skipping back and fourth through time this way. Kind of like learning to break through the warp barrier without damaging the fabric of the universe in the process –tricky, at first, but once you knew how, it became as easy as riding a bike.

Of course, sometimes even the best riders could fall off. That was what Wesley very nearly did that day, before he caught himself, gathered his nerves and rewound time to the _exact_ point which had bothered him so much, over and over and over. That was when he saw something he'd always thought was impossible, even though, in reality, he knew better. The green explosion and yellow eyes were _still_ there, no matter how many times he tried to look around them.

It had been… quick, as far as death went in human terms. For an android, though, it would've been a lot longer. For Wesley it seemed like nearly an eternity, and he lived it several times over just to make sure.

…That sounded kind of morbid, now that he thought about it. Just how many times _had_ he had to relive that scene, he thought, before he'd been certain it was true?

Not enough, apparently, because he _still_ wasn't certain. It couldn't be, could it? Not after all the close calls…

'The reality of dreams rarely resembles a person's imaginings. Yet you believe he expected this outcome?'

'I'm not sure. Maybe he did. He always wanted to be human, but… I wish it hadn't had to go this far.'

When Wesley was a kid, his mother had been an ethno-botanist, of sorts. Just as a hobby, but she'd been pretty good at it, all the same. Mosses had been her favourite. He'd never been able to work out _why_, when the flowers were prettier, more complex and actually tended to require _less_ upkeep than rare mosses and lichens from far away planets. They had been less specialised for one thing, and easier to get hold of for another. Like the Diomedian Scarlet, for example. She'd managed to obtain four samples from different parts of the system and had been really annoyed when some kid of temporal mix-up messed with her experiment.

Anyway. She would plant the samples in algae-type soil substitutes appropriate to each specific culture; then she'd spend literally _hours_ calculating their dietary and environmental requirements using these old fashioned hand instruments. Then…

'Data offered to help her coordinate the specs more exactly, sometimes, but she always turned him down.'

'I'm hardly surprised, to be honest. He _was_ a machine. No, wait. I apologise. No insult was intended. I merely wished to point out that—'

'—That he'd always end up being _too_ exact. Yeah. It's alright. I know what you meant. No artificial system can compensate for mortal ingenuity'

'Wesley…'

'No, really, it's alright. I said so, didn't I? Believe me, he wouldn't mind.'

…Then she would watch the bright, red, burning-like growth spurts for hours, observing the different forms and rates of growth brought on by variations in the climate control. Watching some cultivations bloom and others curdle and die. Rarely, if ever, interfering but _always_ watching. When Wesley was small he had watched with her, but had often grown bored with the process. Where was the fun in something that didn't respond automatically to a touch or a spoken command?

Nowadays, though, Wesley had a similar hobby. Except that _his_ hobby involved observing all the different growth spurts that happened in individual dimensions and roots consisting of planes of reality.

He had, he found, started to understand the things his mother had always known about the moss. That its life and existence, however simple it might appear on the surface, was an incredibly complex process made up of a million chemical reactions and careful balances. Life was a precious thing, no matter how simple it was.

Sometimes there were unexpected episodes. One type of plant wouldn't thrive as well as it should have done, others would fail to begin growing at all. But the thing that always seemed to bother his mother most were the occurences she _couldn't_ explain no matter how she tried.

Like that time when she'd cultivated a fast-growing strain of Seaweed that'd been thriving in the waters around earth since the early nuclear age, and found it to be growing at ten times the natural rate. She'd been going to take it to the labs for closer study, to try and find out "what made it tick". Only it had gone and died on them in the night. In less than eight hours it had gone from a bright, blooming web of green-blue algae to a slimy black mess at the bottom of the containment chamber. They'd never worked out the reason why.

'Data had been helping her with that one.'

'Whether she wanted help or not?' An amused tone of voice. Wesley had to laugh.

'Well, yeah. The thing is? He'd been studying superstition in human cultures earlier. I swear, for a few seconds there, he thought he must've jinxed her experiment.' More laughing. Quieter, this time. 'It's just that… that's not _Data_. It never was. At least it wasn't him while _I_ was around. If you couldn't factually _prove_ something, he had a hard time believing it. _Superstitions with no basis in fact…_'

'You must miss them.'

Wesley nodded. Everything died, in the end. Even things that were supposed to be immortal.

'He was never as immortal as we thought he was.'

'The whole universe could sympathise with that analysis, Wesley. That is the way of things.'

'Why?'

'You have known the answer to that question for a long time, Wesley.'

'I've had a few ideas, but… I've never been certain.'

'Regardless of species and society, Wesley, life is hard. It begins and ends with suffering yet still we find reasons to keep living. Seeking the simplest equations that lie at the root of existence. Occasionally, we find better reasons _not_ to live and that is where we all must make the same choices as your friend.'

Wesley didn't like it. Who would? He wound back a little, skipping through a couple of logical barriers, trying to work out a way things could have been different. Whatever he tried to make happen, someone _always_ seemed to die. There were several alternatives to _his_ death, but none of them were very pleasant. None of them were things he would have wanted. But there _had_ to be a way, surely…

Three seconds later, he was back with the Traveller, who didn't ask where he had been. He probably didn't need to, after all. Wesley shook his head.

_Damn it._

'It's just… I'm scared, traveller. It's like I haven't got an answer to any of the questions I thought I would. I knew I was going to be alone in the end. But I thought at least _he_ would be there, and…When does it stop?'

The Traveller's expression was always as calm as it seemed to be now. 'You asked me that very question on your first day in the company of our kind. Do you remember that?'

'Of course I do.'

'And what did I tell you?'

Wesley kicked at a stratosphere and mentally realigned some molecules somewhere, trying to distract himself from the inevitability of this darn conversation. 'You… didn't. I mean if you _had_ the answer then you didn't tell me.' He paused. You _don't_ have the answer, do you?'

'Not one that would satisfy you, Wes,' the traveller allowed a trace smile to fill his features. Wesley noticed the use of the _Enterprise_-era nickname, the way he noticed everything, these days.

'Tell me anyway,' he said resolutely.

'You must first remember exactly what it was you asked me.'

Wesley thought. It took him several seconds to dredge up the memory and those seconds stretched into eternity and back again. 'I asked you… would there come a time when all my questions had answers and not just lead to more questions?' He looked up. 'So, what's the answer?'

The traveller nodded, in a way that meant everything and nothing. Wesley understood it all and felt all the other questions that leapt into his mind as a result. It was a frustrating sensation.

_You've worked out so much. Not everything, though. Be patient. But why _should_ I be patient? I've been patient for… for how long? I don't know anymore. A long time. No time at all. What's the difference, anyway? Good things come to those who wait. But bad things come, also, to those who don't_ act_, right? What would captain Picard do? Maybe for him, the outcome would end up being more important than the original question. _

_How do you know if the outcome is good or bad? Do you_ really _want to know the answer to that question, Wesley? Probably not. _

Wesley snapped out of his thoughts with a jolt of surprise, smiled, and understood.

'There'll _never_ be a time, will there?' He said. 'There'll never be a time when the answer to one problem, doesn't lead to more questions, no matter whether it's... a simple maths equation or something from a metaphysics study. And there'll never be a world where a person can _never_ be alone...

'Data. He understood that, in the end. I saw it in his face. Maybe he _always_ knew it, because he knew being alone, better than a lot of us did. And he knew all about looking for answers to questions he knew he'd never find.'

The Traveller's face told Wesley that he was almost surprised it had taken the boy so long to come up with that answer.

Wesley smiled sadly and went back to inspecting the birth of a new timeline taking place somewhere behind him. He didn't notice –and yet at the same time, he saw, with total clarity– a subtle muting of light and colour in the timestream –the small bubble of fate and reality that centred around a Ship called _Enterprise_.

Times were changing again, and there was nothing the boy who used to be –and would always be, at heart – Wesley Crusher, could do about it. There was nothing that any of them could do.

'Traveller?'

'Yes, Wesley?'

'…I think I'll go see my mother, today.'

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**Reviews and concrit are greatly appreciated. **


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